


Berserker

by JaydenDSin



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canon Non-Binary Character, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Gore, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Knife Violence, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Murder, Mutilation, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Panic, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Repeated Sexual Assault, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-26 03:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18175031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenDSin/pseuds/JaydenDSin
Summary: No one ever told Bloodhound that life would be easy."Maybethisis what the Allfather has intended for me.They had never felt as alive as they did in that moment, satisfaction swelling in their chest as they brought the knife back down again."





	1. Swallow Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celebrimbors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbors/gifts), [Clefaiiiry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clefaiiiry/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be very triggering to a lot of people. I will update the tags as the story goes along. Please respect them because things _will_ get graphic. It's not for the light of heart, I'm writing this partly because I love writing, but also because it helps to get these ideas out into the open so that they no longer cause _me_ anxiety thinking about them.
> 
> Update 03/25: Did a few quality of life changes to make the story flow a little better. I'm starting the second chapter today.

It started with Asta.

Blóðhundur should have known better; they had always been hedonistic at heart, but to be found with a hunter from the neighboring clan, one so hated by their own, was foolhardy and so very _naive_. Hundur had fallen head over heels for this woman, her amber eyes sparking so sweetly when she laughed; she completely enraptured them. Her skills as a tracker rivaled their own, her face lighting up when she caught up to her prey. Their relationship was like a campfire; warm, inviting, but unfortunately, just as easily extinguishable.

Fritjof was the one to confront them. He was a childhood friend of their father's, his wife often watching over Blóðhundur and their brother when they were younger. Talking to him was often seen as a necessary evil to keep the peace more than something they looked forward to. There was just something about him that set their teeth on edge.

They were on their way back from visiting Asta, thoughts of her bringing a small smile to their face, fresh meat in their pack ready to be prepared for dinner that night. They were passing by his home when Fritjof beckoned them over to his doorstep, a severe look on his face. They walk up to him cautiously.

“Yes, Fritjof?”

The closer they got, the more anxious they became. Fritjof was not known for being very serious, so the likelihood that he hadn’t found out about Asta was very low. Hundur couldn't think of another reason for the scowl on his face.

“Come inside. We must speak.”

His tone left no room for argument. Blóðhundur walked through the door, Fritjof locking it behind them with a resounding _click_. He turned slowly towards them, back straight as a rode, towering over them.

“Blóðhundur, Hella and I watched over you and your brother, raised you with our own children. I thought we had taught you well, that your _parents_ had taught you well, but I assumed wrong, knowing now that you have been _whoring_ yourself out to our enemy!”

The words turned their blood to ice. They thought they had covered all of their tracks, but they got careless, assuming after a while that no one would notice them leaving in the night to go to Asta, even being careless enough to see her during the day this time. They realized that convincing him that he was mistaken would be next to impossible. He continued.

“I wonder what the clan would say if they found out. What your family would say? Would they still be as proud of you as they are today? Something as severe as this, I think the clan elders would call for your exile, would you not think so?” The man’s eyes were cold. Calculating. He wanted something out of this, obviously, but they didn’t know what. Blóðhundur's voice shook when they spoke.

“Ég bið þig, Fritjof. Please do not tell anyone.”

“I do not think you will have to worry about, Blóðhundur. Not if you do as I ask, of course?” His words made something nasty rise up in Blóð; as if they had a choice in the matter. They knew that they needed to control themself, lest he make good on his threat. The weight of the carcasses on their back long forgotten, the only thing on their mind was how to get out of this rotting mess they had thrown themself into. They tried to keep their voice even.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to kneel, _druslan_.”

Fear shot through Blóðhundur. They scrambled to think of anything to give him but _that_ , but they didn’t have anything he couldn’t acquire himself. He was a successful hunter and Blóð was no craftsman. They weighed their options carefully. They either lost their home, their family, everything they had _ever known_ in one night, or they did what he asked tonight and hoped that it was enough to keep him silent.

They knelt.

~~~

When there was ever any conflict in Blóðhundur’s life, their amma would always take them to the lake. The sound of trickling water from the river that fed it would put them at ease while she picked apart their issues, making the solutions sound so obvious, their problems so easily solvable. She was an infinite wealth of knowledge. In moments like this, they desperately wished she was still with them. She would know what to do right now.

 _What am I doing here? My family will be worried… but I can't go home like this._ They stared at their reflection in the lake. Even they could see they looked awful, their eyes swollen, their hair a rats nest from -

 _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t -_ The sound of him laughing when they yelped, having roughly grabbed the back of their head, hair held tightly as he yanked them closer -

Hundur shook their head, attempting to rid themself of the memory.

_If you stay much longer someone will come looking for you. You need to pull yourself together, Blóðhundur._ They didn't know if they could. 

They ran their hands over their face, wiping away the water from when they washed their face, tears rewetting their cheeks. They felt distant from themself, that what happened hadn't been them, _couldn't_ have been them. Praying that this was just a bad dream and they would wake up at home, their family curled up asleep beside them. But they knew it wasn't a dream, that this was real, that it would probably happen again too.

Of all the things that they wanted in that moment, they just wanted to be in their family’s arms. They _ached_ for their father’s calm reassurance that the Allfather had plans and this was just one of them, that they would grow stronger because of their hardships. They yearned for their mother's steady arms, to bury their face in her soft, curly hair, the ringlets tickling their nose while she rocked them like she used to when they were small and unruly. They wanted to hear their older brother's sharp voice, his volatile nature not one meant for soothing another, but they knew he would defend them in a heartbeat. Allfather, if their family knew what had been _done_ to them.

 _If they knew what_ I _had done, that I had put us all in danger..._ An undercurrent of anxiety made itself known beneath the numbness, the thought of their family turning against them more nauseating than what they had been forced to do to keep this a secret. They hadn’t felt guilty about meeting Asta before, but faced with the choice between her and their family, it was simple.

It took another hour before they could pull themself together enough to make the long trek home. They left their pack by the lake, emptying it of the carcasses as to not attract wild animals to it and made a note to retrieve it later. At that point, there was no hope of preparing the meat without attracting sickness, but throwing an entire day’s worth of work out was bittersweet.

By the time they walked through the front door, they felt a little more settled in their skin; less like an exposed nerve and more like a stitched wound. The look on their face must not have been as put together as they had hoped though, because even their loudmouth brother was quiet for once. They shut the door gently behind themself, that off kilter feeling coming back to them now. Their family was usually boisterous, bold, constantly in motion, but all three of them were still. Gods, they just wanted everything to go back to normal, but it seemed like that wish would go ignored, just like the others.

“Blóðhundur, where have you been?”

Kirkland was the first to speak, his soft tone doing much to soothe them. If their mother had it her way, she would pull every last detail of tonight's events out of them. Nothing was a secret in this household if she had any say, but it was their father that addressed them first and Blóð knew he would let it go if they gave him a good enough reason to.

Whether they could follow through with a good enough excuse was a different story. There wasn’t really a good excuse for the bruised throat, unruly hair, and the stilted way they carried themself. Not without just opening up and telling the truth, and they would if they could, but it still felt like Fritjof had his hand around their neck, tightening ever so slightly like he knew that they were on the edge of cracking.

The seconds passed by with no answer, their child seemingly frozen in place. Thyra and Leif looked anxious to push the issue, ever impatient, but Kirkland didn’t give any indication that they should. Blóðhundur looks like a wreck, to put it plainly. Anyone with eyes could see that. No one came back home with hand shaped bruises around their neck and that much distress in their eyes just from hunting small game. Hundur wasn’t one to bare their thoughts and emotions easily, but he could tell that with a gentle nudge or two, they would. Or at least he hoped.

In the end, he got nothing out of them. In the time their father spent waiting for them to open up, they had built up their defenses, guarding their heart just a little better than they did before. By the time dinner was finished and everyone settled down beside each other for sleep, Blóðhundur had a wall around their heart, their face betraying nothing of the turmoil that was ripping them apart. They would face this challenge head on, Allfather willing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your questions will be answered with time. Or maybe not. I dunno.
> 
> There's not a set schedule for this fic. I'm writing it as ideas come to me, but I am making it a point to work on it every day if I can. This chapter took me a few days to get through just because most of the ideas I have are for the middle and end of the fic. Getting started has always been my weak point.
> 
> Just so ya'll know, almost everything in this fic is going to serve a purpose. I try not to put things in the fic that don't mean anything.
> 
> Ren and Bunny have helped me so much with this fic and I would just like to thank them for checking everything over, making sure I hadn't missed anything or left out something important. Ren helped me a lot with making sure I stayed on track and giving me advice on what to do next, and they're one of my biggest supporters as far as my writing journey goes.


	2. Að Pissa Í Skó Sinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be intensely triggering to some people and majorly disturbing to others. Mutilation and panic attacks will be described in this chapter. Please read at your own risk. Tags have been updated to reflect the content of this chapter. Please reread them before continuing.

They felt like they were dying.

Blóðhundur had never felt so powerless before. Their hands were shaking, their lungs were _shrinking_. Their heart had planted itself firmly in their throat and gods, if they didn’t try to swallow it down.

They knew they were technically alright. They had seen this happen to their father before, knew what it looked like from the outside. They just weren’t expecting it to feel this _awful_. Their mother would always help him work through it. Gods, it had been so long since he’d had an attack that it was a struggle to even remember how she fixed it.

She… _counted_ , didn’t she? Blóð was almost certain that she had counted, but they couldn’t for the life of them recall what. Gods, how did their father _deal_ with this? Black spots dotted their eyes, telling them that they should probably take a breath. What did breathing feel like again? It had been awhile since they’d been able to do that properly.

 _Worry about now, hálfviti. You’re about to pass out._ They gasped, their entire being shuddering with relief as air flooded their lungs. Okay. Breathing was no longer voluntary, at least for the moment.

The memory hit them like a charging buck. Blóð realized what their mother was counting.

_Breathe in, elskan. One, two, three, four. Hold it, one, two…_

They followed along with the her, the memory of their mother’s words calming them. Gods, what they wouldn’t give to have her here right now. They could barely remember where _here_ was, if they were being truly honest with themself, but they pushed that from their mind, all of their concentration put towards just trying to breathe.

After what felt like hours, they finally settled back into their own skin, the baseline anxiety that flowed underneath their skin a little more prevalent than usual, but that was quickly becoming the norm anyways.

 _You could leave._ Blóð tried to dislodge the invasive thought from their brain. There was no way they were leaving their family, not over something like this. The Allfather had his plans and this was just one obstacle that he expected them to overcome.

 _What if the Allfather has something planned that takes you far from home?_ Blóð scowled. There was no way the Allfather would make them leave their home, no matter how much they wished it so. He hadn’t asked anyone to leave their homeland in over two hundred years, they didn’t think that they were special in that regard.

Blóð stood up shakily, dusting themself off as they did so, and walked out of the door of their family’s home. It was close to dusk. If they didn’t hurry, they would be late. If they were being honest with themself though, that wasn’t much of a motivator at this point. _Maybe it was the will of the Allfather to just up and leave?_ No, that was absurd. _As absurd as thinking the will of the Allfather is_ this?

Blóð has thought many times of just leaving, daydreaming when there was a quiet moment to spare, of taking what little belongings they needed and heading further into the frontier to escape this hell. They had even gone as far as to start monitoring when ships would land in their part of the system so that they could maybe hitch a ride. Up until just now though, these had just been fantasies. Nothing they were actively acting on, but there was no harm in dreaming. The Allfather cared only for actions. Dreams meant little when it came to his judgement, so they felt safe in doing so.

Fritjof had been holding this piece of blackmail over their head since the beginning of winter. Spring was weeks away and yet he still held it over them. At this point, they very much doubted that he was going to tell anyone solely based on the fact that he had no proof. Blóð had cut ties with Asta the day after he had confronted them and she hadn’t tried to visit them since. All the clan had to go on was his word against theirs and Blóð had more evidence of his assault on them than he ever did with them seeing Asta.

They would think on this later when they had time. For now, they were late and the longer they stalled, the harsher the punishment would be. Fritjof had been getting more aggressive recently, making it so much harder to hide the abuse. He wasn’t much inclined to be gentle with them, sometimes using them for pleasure but often times just using them to take out frustration.

Their frown deepened. Now was not the time to dwell if they wanted to hide the evidence before their family expected them home. Reluctantly, their pace quickened.

When they reached his doorstep, Blóð hesitated. They could turn around right now, go home, and tell their parents everything. They would be punished, maybe even exiled like Fritjof had threatened, but all of this would end and they probably wouldn’t have to leave their home planet.

 _Stop that, Blóðhunder. You’re putting off the inevitable._ Taking a deep breath to steady themself, they opened the door.

~~~

Something was wrong. Fritjof’s home usually left an ice cold dread pooling in their stomach, but it felt even more unsettling than usual.

“You’re late. Come here…” They stepped forward. “Don’t forget to lock the door, you useless whelp!” Blóðhundur flinched away, turning quickly to correct their mistake. When they faced him again, he beckoned them forward, directing them to kneel in front of him. Today was going to be one of _those_ days.

He gripped onto their hair, loose from their usual braids. Blóð took a deep breath, feeling numbness wash over themself as they forced their mind to distance itself from their body. They found that it was the easiest way to get through the abuse; they could almost pretend they weren’t there to begin with, that he wasn’t forcing himself past their slack lips - _Stop!_

They yelped when he yanked their head backwards, so focused on keeping themself distant that minutes had passed. They squeezing their eyes shut, thinking he was about to finish himself off on their face, but nothing happened. When Blóð finally looked up, he was leering at them. They fought the instinct to look away.

“You seem bored.” Blóð scrambled to come up with an excuse but they didn’t have time to before he slammed them onto the floor. Pain shot down their spine as their head made impact, dark spots overtaking their vision momentarily.

“I think we should try something new.”

By the time their head cleared enough to realize what was happening, he had already uncovered their bottom half. He was speaking, his voice as slimy as the hands running over their skin, but it was all background noise compared to the high pitched shrieking that echoed endlessly in their mind; _Allfather,_ please _not this. Anything but this._

They tried to scramble away but their back hit the wall before they could put much distance between them and his roaming hands. He grabbed onto their ankles, jerking them back underneath him. The harsh words didn’t push past the fog that clouded their mind until they felt the edge of a knife press into their jugular.

“I see I have your attention, druslan. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to settle down, or I’ll bleed you like a stuck pig. Are we clear?”

There was nothing they could do if they wanted to get out of this alive. It was either let him take what he wanted and hope that a ship came by their side of the frontier some time soon so they could leave before this ever happened again, or he would slit their throat. He may do so anyways.

He apparently didn’t care for their silence because a moment later, he pressed the large knife in with just enough pressure to break the skin but not enough to cut anything vital. Not yet.

The reality of having something so deadly pressed into such a delicate part of themself caused all of the rage that they had been holding back to boil over, revenge becoming the only thing that occupied their mind as they lunged forward, knocking him off balance. Their positions flipped, giving Blóðhundur power over him for the first time.

Their safety wasn’t a concern. Consequences be damned, they were not going to submit to him any longer. An inhuman screech ripped itself from their throat as Blóðhunder grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted sharply. The delicate bones within snapped and he dropped the knife with a pained shriek. The sound echoed in their head, satisfying a primal instinct inside that was normally buried too deep to reach, beneath all of the pieces that made them who they were. The pieces that Fritjof had stripped away for his own gain. They would never get them back, but they would make _damn sure_ he didn’t have them either.

They snatched the knife up off the ground before Fritjof had time to react, bringing it down just as quickly. The feeling of the knife sliding into his chest with such little resistance left their toes curling, a sick, but oh so wonderful feeling overtaking them. They needed _more._

 _Maybe_ this _is what the Allfather has intended for me._ They had never felt as _alive_ as they did in that moment, satisfaction swelling in their chest as they brought the knife back down again. Nothing they had ever done before this had felt as _right_. Blóðhundur had killed before, small prey animals to feed their family, large predators when one came too close to the village, but nothing compared to the feeling of Fritjof going motionless.

The tension that had made its home in them slowly melted away, relief taking its place. For the first time in months, they knew peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clefaiiiry was such a huge help with me putting this chapter out. They're so wonderful and they actually helped me write the ending, which I was struggling intensely with. It took a lot longer to get this chapter right. Celebrimbor and Newagenewbarricade helped as well and I really appreciate it. I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Just a reminder, there is no set schedule for this fic. I'll work on Chapter 3 when I'm comfortable, but I'll also try not to make ya'll wait more than 5-9 days. Time to go _actually play the game._


End file.
